


God Of The Dead

by WanderingTiredly



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Human-Covenant War, The Great War, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 17:04:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18077462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingTiredly/pseuds/WanderingTiredly
Summary: As we know him, Siris, is a skilled bounty hunter who loves his wife Megan. But, how did he get to that point? What was it like for Mason Wu as a colonel in the Great War?





	God Of The Dead

**Author's Note:**

> just a soft warning, if you're squeamish, i don't go too deep into detail, but... you know. he's a cyborg, so. that had to happen somehow.  
> anyway, cheers! <3

Hot, blinding pain throbbed through his left leg. The bullet wound had been festering for hours--they had no more biofoam to give out. Every movement sparked something within him. His skin around it had been flayed, the inside pulsed disgustingly, blood and some other pus like material edging it’s way out. His legs armor lay in a pile beside him.

“Colonel Wu,” came the voice of his superior. “That was brave of you.” He’d thrown himself in the way of blow so that it wouldn’t an innocent civilian who shouldn’t have been on the planet in the first place.

And, of course, because he did everything he could to be a good person, he gave one of his troops the rest of his biofoam. He’d been profusely bleeding out of his arm. Mason couldn’t very well watch on in good conscience. “It was nothing,” he denied.

The ship shuttered--it was an old model they’d swindled because they needed to arrive at their destination faster. The infection in his leg wasn’t going to get any better if they drove or god forbid walked to the nearest health center. He’d nearly shrugged it off, told his Captain that they needed to buckle down and focus on the mission and not himself--but the pain grew too tremendous.

He was fading in and out of consciousness. For a moment, he considered if he could’ve lived his life vapid and aimless, instead of here right now. Was the pain worth all of this? It was, he told himself, it was because if it wasn’t me, it'd be someone else. The Covenant had no qualms about who they targeted, after all, they eventually planned on wiping them all out.

“Sir?” he inquired. “How much longer? I hate to ask...”

“Son,” his superior cut him off. That was alright with Mason though, with the way his world seemed to dim around the edges, he wasn’t sure he had the capacity to finish the sentence anyway. “Hang in there, we’re gonna make it.”

At this point, Mason wasn’t sure he wanted to make it anymore. He simply wanted the pain to go away. It felt like he was burning up--probably because he was, he noted reasonably--and yet he shivered violently.

One of his troops approached him, “Sir, I need you to open your mouth.” Mason’s eyes opened and he eyed the device dubiously before realizing it was harmless. It was a thermometer. He nearly laughed, his mother used those before he’d enlisted.

The metal was cold against his tongue. Or maybe, his mouth was just that warm. Everything felt like too much all at once. Faintly, he heard a beeping, and then the Private spoke something to the Captain. Inside of his mind, a distant cacophony of sound rose and pounded in his head. He managed to make out three numbers when Private Andrews spoke. “103.”

“Colonel Wu, hey, stay awake.” Mason blinked hard. Hurrying to apologize for his lack of control. Despite his apology the clutches of sleep seemed to keep grabbing at him.

Private Andrews sounded distressed. “Sir, shouldn’t we just let him rest?”

“We’re almost there. This ship is going as fast as it can, Private. But if Wu passes out now, I can’t guarantee he’s going to wake up again.” Mason swallowed thickly. The words frightening him. He couldn’t die, not yet. The war wasn’t over yet. He’d dedicated so much of his life to it, he couldn’t step out now, could he?

His head was pounding. He felt bile rise up his esophagus. The pain in his leg never ceased. Thrumming incessantly, everything burned. “‘M tired,” he mumbled, his fingers itching to add more pressure to his leg. Mason had been told not to, it's only add to the infection, but at this point, he didn’t care.

From the head of the ship, he heard someone shout. “Making a landing, secure the patient!” Mason felt himself pale. Not sure if he could handle a bumpy landing. The jostling would just make everything worse. He’d nearly begged them to not land at all.

“Son, hang on to this. Don’t move,” he’d ordered.

Mason threw his head back and grit his teeth. His stomach plummeted as they descended toward the ground below. On the tip of his tongue, Mason contained a myriad of curses he was just itching to use. None of which could describe the immense struggle he was feeling at the moment.

As soon as it had started, the drop ended. The Captain and Private Andrews maneuvered him onto a stretcher, despite his insistence that he could hobble off the ship. He heard the Captain bark orders about the ICU unit, and that they needed immediate medical attention before the infection spread.

The descent out the bay door was awkward and painful, but Mason bared it if only for his pride. A crew of people rushed to meet them in the landing bay, a moving device for Mason available. Private Andrews was held back to explain the situation but his Captain pressed on with them. “Wu,” he began, “If you can survive this, you very well may be Osiris himself.”

“...Siris?” he asked, not sure if he heard right.

His Captain laughed. “Siris? Sure, son. I said Osiris. God of Death. You seem to always be able to pull yourself out of bad situations.” Captain leveled him with a serious gaze. “Please, let this be another one of those.”

His Captain, too, got pulled aside to be looked over. If Mason had the infection, it wasn’t a stretch that all of the people he’d been with had it too. Instead, he was placed in the care of a nurse. Through squinted eyes he made out the form of lean woman who was politely ordering others around.

Above her was a bright light. Mason wasn’t sure if the blinding illumination was a result of his fever, but he stopped caring when he saw the glowing halo on the nurse that emerged from it. She looked angelic. Mason felt his breath catch in his throat.

“Be sure to breathe, Colonel. I know it might be tough--” Her voice was smooth like honey. He wanted to sink in it. It was warm, safe, and he felt as though he could be stuck in it.

He grinned at her, it was lazy and lopsided, but when he saw her he felt better than he had all day. “Not ‘cause I hurt,” he told her, voice coming out slow and labored. “It’s cause... you’re so...” He lost his train of thought.

She smiled softly. She has dimples... Mason thought tiredly. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but we gave you oxytocin, so the pain should be lessened.” That would explain it. He tried to focus his eyes and read her name tag, but when the struggle became too intense, he gave up.

“What’s your name?” he asked, hearing the slur to his own voice.

Her fingers were so soft. They brushed over his heated skin and stripped him of his undersuit. If he’d been more aware, he’d have the decency to be embarrassed. “I’m Megan.” Her dark eyes crinkled when she laughed. His heart beat a little faster in his chest, and thankfully, it wasn’t because of his pain or his medicine. “Colonel Wu--”

“‘M Siris...” he muttered. “Osiris? Siris,” he paused. “Mason, my name’s Mason Wu.”

She nodded and hummed in agreement. “Megan Isis,” she introduced. “Now, Mason, I need to tell you the good news and the bad news.”

He quirked his head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“The good news is: you’re going to live.” That was assuring. The way she said it too, like she cared about his safety--Mason had never believed in love at first sight, but maybe that was because he hadn’t met this angel yet. “The bad news is: we need to stop the infection to insure that.”

Readily, he agreed with her. Stop the infection, sounds like an easy task. They’d done a good job at stopping the spread so far. Now only the bottom half of his leg seemed to be an issue. “Right.” He shook his head. “How the hell do I do that?”

She ran her fingers through dark tresses of ink. “You don’t do anything. We’ll handle it, okay?”

“Handle what?” he pressed.

Sighing, she informed him of the plan. “We’re going to need to amputate the limb. The infection is too powerful and if you want a shot at surviving, you’re going to need an enhancement. I’m not a doctor, but I do know everything there is to know on prosthetics.”

“Prosthetic--amputation? No, wait, no, can’t you just treat it?” Fear caught his breath and refused to release it. He’d gone under the knife plenty of times, but this would be something entirely different.

Unexpectedly, she grasped his hand in her own. “I’m sorry, but we can’t.” She seemed so genuine, so real, he knew she was being honest. “But we’re going to help you recover. And believe it or not, a prosthetic is oftentimes more effective than a normal leg.”

“I’d... I’d be a cyborg.” He glanced down at the wound. “That’s almost my entire leg.” A wave of nausea hit him. His leg looked hideous. The wound was irritated and swollen. The skin surrounding and below was a shade of white unlike anything he’d ever seen. Bumps and such covered the skin, threatening to break open at any point.

“You’re going to be just as amazing, okay?”

He wanted to argue with her. She didn’t know him, she had no idea what he was like before. But her compassion, her caring nature, he couldn’t bring himself to fight her on it. “Are you going to... are you going to help me?”

She cupped his face in her hand. “Yes, Mason, yes I will.”

 

* * *

 


End file.
